


Sex, Drugs, and Portals.

by bakerstreetchick22



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: 70's period, AU, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drugs, Eventual Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Gay Sex, Going with the flow, I love these ships, M/M, NSFW, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Smut, Warning rick, criminal activity, repressed homosexual feelings, rick is really gay, sooo many ideas, there will be smut, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetchick22/pseuds/bakerstreetchick22
Summary: Stanley is down on his luck when he meets a crazy haired punk in a bar one night. Little did he know that meeting was going to be the start of a drug fueled trip across the multiverse.





	1. Punk

**Author's Note:**

> I just discovered this ship and fell in love. I have so many ideas and plots running in my head. I really should be asleep but the feels have inspired me to create. Comments are always appreciated! :)

Smoke hung stalely over the bar. Disco music pulsed vaguely from the club area of the establishment. It was long past midnight and most of the casual drinkers had gone home, leaving only the rowdy bunch who intended on getting good and wasted. Stanley, much to his shame was one of those. He had allowed himself to stay in this town longer than he really ought to have and he knew it. Soon he would have to leave to go to yet another town, to eventually hang around yet another bar like this one, and commit yet another round of crimes. It seemed like with each place he visited, he'd sink even lower. Money was coming becoming scarcer and scarcer it seemed. People weren’t being swayed by his gimmicks like they were in the beginning. Maybe it was because the toll of living on the road was starting to show in his appearance. He wasn’t the rough around the edges jock any more. He was just rough.  


Stanley bitterly rolled the amber colored alcohol around in his glass before taking in down in a gulp. It burned like fire, sweet fire. He couldn’t have been more of a fuck up if he tried he mused bitterly.

His eyes roved around the noisy company around him. They were all pretty typical, a dejected business man, some truckers, and loud bunch of young 20 somethings talking dirty with each other for something to do. There was also a trio of call girls hanging around by the pay phone with their pimp, making it all too obvious that they were running shop out of the bar. The brunette one kept looking at him with her big done up eyes, but he knew couldn’t afford it. Hell, he felt guilty about even considering it. 

“What would Ford think of you now?” Stanley’s insides recoiled at the thought, and waved for the bartender to refresh his drink. 

“AIDS!!! That’s w-w-what I always say.” Yelled an inebriated voice from behind him.

Stanley’s eyes shot in the direction of the voice to see who would say that kind of shit. He was surprised at what he saw. It was a booth of complete weirdoes. The owner of the voice was some lanky spikey haired punk that looked like delinquency himself, wearing a low cut ripped up tank top, and a black leather choker. Across from him was someone in a freakishly convincing bird costume and another character dressed up as alley cat. He didn’t know how he had missed them before. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought. Just at that moment the punk’s restless eyes made contact with Stanley’s. 

“Oh shit.” Stanley said under his breath, looking away. He didn’t want any trouble. The last thing he wanted was to get into a fist fight with some loons. A few tense minutes passed before he glanced casually back over his shoulder, praying that the punk had returned to his conversation. To his great dismay the punk was eyeing up Stanley, with a slightly lewd expression, and mumbling something to the bird man. Stanley subtly reached into the pocket of his coat where he kept his brass knuckles, just in case this developed into something nasty. He stole another look. The punk was swinging his unnaturally long limbs out of the booth, and getting up. The punk was headed this direction.

“What’s happening tough guy!” The punk greeted flirtatiously with double finger guns, sliding into the chair next Stanley. His ripped black skinny jeans and skull belt made it blinding obvious that this guy was unapologetically trouble. He radiated sex, in all of its grimy kinky facets. If the black nail polish didn’t give it away, the lusty glint in his eyes made it clear, he was most definitely queer.

“I’m not interested.” Stanley rebuffed. 

“Jeez Louise! I-I-It’s not like I’m trying to get in your pants or anything.” The punk rolled his eyes sarcastically, gesturing vaguely with his bony hands. 

“Sure as hell looks like it.” Stanley said bluntly, scanning him up and down.

“Shit, I w-w-wouldn’t be so cocky if I was a sorry looking piece of ass like you.” The punk spat, crossing his arms defensively. “J-j-just because you got muscles doesn’t mean shit to me. There’s a million guys like you.”

“Get lost.” Stanley retorted, trying to hide that fact that he was actually somewhat hurt by his last statement.

“F-f-fine, I guess this is what I get for trying to-” He belched loudly, “-do someone a favor.” He shot a sly look at Stanley from beneath his wild eye brows as he got up from the bar. “I g-g-guess you don’t need the money…”

The magic words. Stanley’s hand shot out and caught the punk by his wiry arm.

“How much money we talk’n here?”

The punk flashed a smile, while letting his hand ghost over Stanley’s bicep. “As m-m-much as those fucking beefy arms of yours can carry if we’re lucky.”

“I don’t do robberies if that is what this is about.” Stanley said pulling away from his unwelcome touch. 

“S-s-suit yourself douche.” The punk hissed, before fishing out a crumpled piece of paper with some digits on it and smacking it on the bar. “Call me if y-y-you change your mind and decide to stop being a pain in the ass. Because that’s w-w-what you are. A pain in the ass- to you- and me. A fucking pain in the ass. You could help me- I could help you- but i-i-instead you’re just a pain in the ass-” 

“Would you shut up!” Stanley exclaimed, losing his cool.

“Fucking. Pain. In. The. Ass.” The punk growled through is teeth, before fishing out a flask from his back pocket and taking a long swig. Satisfied he had had the last word, he sauntered off back to his table looking pissed.

“Let’s squanch.” He announced loudly to his friends.

“If that is what you wish.” The bird man answered in an oddly formal voice.

“Squanch.” Replied the ally cat man. 

Giving Stanley one final look that was somewhere between a dare and an invitation, the punk head for the door with his friends. “F-F-Fucking half-assed conman.” The punk grumbled under his breath as they exited. 

Stanley looked skeptically at the paper. He knew that he shouldn’t take it, but then again the money… 

“No! No! No!” He yelled at himself internally. “Robbing is wrong- pick pocketing well- but out right robbing someone?”

His eyes rested on the piece of paper. Guilt swelled in his chest, as he reached out and unfolded it. 

“Rick 713-553-9011”

It was probably the worst hand writing he had ever seen. The idea of knocking over anything with “Rick” was a grim one. The brunette call girl at the end of the bar stretched out her leg attractively, while winking at him. Stanley took another drink and pocketed the number. He wasn't a kid any more.


	2. An Arrangment

Beams of neon poured down from the motel vacancy sign, reflecting onto the wet asphalt. Piles of trash, like autumn leaves, sat decomposing in the corners of the parking lot. Stanley groaned as he parked his car at the back of the lot, trying his best to ignore the hell he was living in. He staggered up to the entrance of his bombed out motel room. His shaky, drunk hands fumbled with his key as he put it to the lock. His heart sunk as he attempted to turn the open the door. The locks had been changed on him. 

“Fuck.” He spat, slamming the door with his fist, leaving a dent in it. He knew he hadn’t paid his rent in around a week, but he didn’t think he would get locked out for it so soon. No bed. No shower. Worst of it all was that a good chunk of his stuff was in that room, some of it pretty incriminating- drugs, a gun he didn’t have license for, and stack of his previously used IDs. Panic shoot through him. He could be convicted if he didn’t get his hands back his stuff.

His brooding gaze flashed at the little motel office at the back of the parking lot. There was only one thing to do, and he was mad enough and drunk enough to do it without a second thought. Picking up a discarded beer bottle by the neck, he started walking towards the office. Swiftly, he smashed the bottle in half on the side of the building before throwing open the door.

“What the hell do you want!” Barked the gruff looking landlord, looking up angrily from his desk. His eyes flicked at the smashed bottle in Stanley’s fist. “So, you wanna add assault to your rap list?”

Stanley stood there silently, scanning the room for his stuff.

“I already sent your shit off with the cops when they came.” The landlord sighed, lighting a cigarette, obviously not feeling threatened. “They say that they’ll bring you in as soon as fucking possible, and believe me they’ll do it. I make it a policy to keep tabs on all my guest's license plate numbers in case they decide to skip out or whatever. The cops know everything they need to know to hunt you down. You won’t get out of the county.”

Stanley could feel himself loosing his grip a little. Jail, he felt sick at the thought of it. He had never officially been put away for anything before. Sweat poured down his palms. His gaze darkened. 

“You’re a real loser aren’t you?” The landlord taunted, as he started dialing his phone. “What did you think? That you were just gonna break in here, take your stuff, and everything would be A-OK? You're a wanted man now, and there's no use in fighting it.” He pulled the receiver up to his ear. Stanley could hear the buzz of the police department answering on the other side of the line. 

The landlord smiled, making direct eye contact with Stanley. “Yeah, I’m calling about a criminal I have here in m-“

Smash. Stanley brought the bottle down the on landlord’s cheek with lightening speed. Bleeding and enraged, the landlord struggled to get up, grasping at his desk drawer. Stanley jumped over the desk, knocking the desk lamp over and scattering a bunch papers. It was all a blur. Stanley moved without hesitation. He struck the landlord repeatedly, violently, like a cornered animal. The landlord was no small man, and he did throw his share of the punches, but it was no match for Stanley’s blind rage and fear. It was over in under a minute. 

Stanley dropped the bottle as his senses returned to him. The landlord was bleeding from his face and his side all over the floor. There were glass shards and papers everywhere. Fortunately, there was still a faint breath coming from the landlord. He was not dead. Stanley looked at the desk drawer that the landlord had been trying to desperately reach in the struggle. He pulled it open and in it laid a revolver. That revolver could have been the end of road for him, and he knew it.

Another wave of panic coursed through Stanley. His only chance was to run now, run as far away from this town as possible. He hastily picked up the gun and the several packages of bullets that were next to it and shoved it into his jacket. He then proceeded to frantically ransack the office in search of cash, weapons, anything. In the end he left with around seventy dollars and a pen knife, apparently all the cash had been locked up for the night. Not bothering to even look back, he ran out to his car. His fucking bright red car. 

“Smooth- just smooth-“ He grunted, slamming the car door shut and blazing out of the parking lot. “Just pick the most obvious color in the book. That’s low profile.” 

The car swerved out onto the dark road. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know what he was doing. “Did anything even matter anymore?” He wondered. Images of the landlord on the floor flooded his mind as the town flew by him. “Am I really the kind of guy that would do something like that, and then just leave?” He was sick thinking about it now. He felt as though he didn’t know himself anymore. Deep down, the optimism that had kept him going from town to town was evaporating. He couldn’t lie anymore. He was a loser. Everything that Stanford, his parents, his teachers, the landlord, that punk-

His eyes lit up. Rick. He still had that number in his pocket. It wasn’t the best of situations. Rick definitely was not his first choice for a safe house, but if Rick was the shady guy that he was making himself out to be, then he was Stanley’s best bet at avoiding the cops. Casually, he rounded the street corner and stopped in at an all night gas station. He glanced at his watch as he jumped out of the car.

3:46 A.M.

He prayed to God that Rick was there and was not passed out from drinking or something. Trying to avoid eye contact with the gas station employee that was smoking outside, Stanley walked over the pay phone. He withdrew the crumpled piece of paper, and dialed. Several rings went by-

“-Yooooo!” Slurred Rick into the receiver. “Who the fuck is this?”

Stanley took a deep breath. “This is Stanley. The guy you met at the bar tonight.”

“I-I-Is that supposed to make remember who the fuck you are? I meet a lot of guys in bars Buster.” Rick scoffed.

A flustered blush rose in Stanley’s cheeks. He wasn’t used to someone being this open about being gay. It made him feel strange. “You gave me your number and asked about me doing a job for you. I turned you down-“

“Look i-i-if your calling to trying say that you’ll blow me now- then fuck yeah baby I’m into it. I k-k-knew you were just playing hard to get.”

Stanley’s face got redder, “No- No- that’s not what- who I am.” He had to stop and collect himself for a second. “You called me a pain in the ass.” 

There was a moment of dead silence.

“OOOOHHHHHH!” Rick erupted in sudden realization. “So, Mr. half-assed conman decided to grow a pair.”

Stanley gritted his teeth at the insult, but swallowed his pride. “Yeah, so ah Rick. You said you would help me if I helped you.”

Ricked sighed. “Lemme guess you n-n-need some place to stay or some shit? The fuzz is after your ass right?” 

Stanley eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know that?” 

“You don’t have to be a genius to figure out why someone is calling you this fucking late at night a-a-asking about favors. You got fucking kicked out of your shitty cum dumpster of place didn’t you? A-A-Are you on 7th street?”

Stanley looked around, and sure enough he was on the corner of 7th and Main. “Yeah, but how did you know that?”

“I’m g-g-genius, genius.” Rick said bluntly. “So listen, i-i-if I help you, you know this means t-t-that we have an arrangement now. You gotta help me out with shit cause I’m not running a home for no p-p-pain in the asses. This ain’t free. Got it?”

Stanley ran his fingers though his hair. “Got it.” He echoed back, getting an uneasy feeling that he shouldn’t be in an arrangement with Rick.

“Alright!” Rick replied with a nearly manic amount of joy. “L-L-Let me give your dumbass directions to get here the b-b-back way.”

Stanley listened intently, while jogging down the list of turns onto his shirt cuff with a pen. 

“Alright, I’ll be over soon.” Stanley sighed, 

“S-See you then, Stanley.” Rick purred, his voice making Stanley’s collar feel uncomfortably tight. Stanley hung up the phone with a click. What had he just done? His whole life felt like it was slipping between his fingers. The bitter taste of guilt swelled up in his mouth. He fished out a couple more quarters and slipped them into the pay phone. Slowly, he dialed 911.

“Sandy Cove 911, what’s the exact location and nature of your emergency?” Spoke a women's voice through the phone.

“Yeah, I would like to call in an assault victim.“ Stanley voice shook a little bit as he said it as if saying it made him guiltier. “He’s in pretty bad shape, cut in a lot of places, lost a lot of blood. He needs to be stitched up. Address is 10084 Main. You’ll find him in the office.” He hung up the phone. He couldn’t say anymore. Pulling up his hood, he headed back out to his car and jumped in and started to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this Stanley hasn't been to jail yet. In the time line of things I'm thinking this is happening around sixish years or so after he got kicked out of the house.


	3. Open Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the sin begins.....

Stanley’s eyes roved suspiciously over the scenery. The closer and closer he got to Rick’s place, the more run down the neighborhood got. It was a total cesspool of shitty looking alleyways and abandoned buildings. Nearly every blank wall had been tagged with graffiti or was plastered in ripped up advertisements. The good thing though was that he hadn’t seen a single cop. It seemed that the police had declared this area hopeless- lawless. Up ahead of the car glowed a half-burnt out sign that read Ridge View Apartments. Rick’s place. His car lurched to a halt in front of the complex. It was hardly the worse thing that Stanley had ever seen, but it was in no way the Ritz. It would do. This would do. 

A half-hearted smile crept onto his face as he looked up at beat up complex. “Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad being partners in crime with Rick.” He thought, “Maybe Rick and his friends might turn out to be just the medicine I need to get back on my feet again. Who knows, maybe I might strike it rich with one of their schemes.” 

At least he wouldn’t be on his own for once. That would be a welcome change. He didn’t like being alone, dreaded it actually. Family had been the most important thing in his life, and now that it was gone, he felt as though a piece of himself had been lost. Putting on a brave face, he got out of the car and walked around to the trunk. Thankfully, he had a car cover for his ride that was left over from when he actually took pride in appearances. He stretched it over his vehicle, effectively covering the license plates and the bright red paint color. Eventually, he was going to have to figure out what he was going to do about his car being a marked as vehicle of interest, but for now this was going to have to do. 

Checking his shirt cuff, he read off Rick’s door number, and then proceeded track down his apartment. He found it around the back of the building on the second floor. Even if he didn’t have the door number, he could have easily picked out which apartment was Rick’s. Loud and strange rock music was literally vibrating the doorknob, and within seconds of standing there he could smell the heavy dream like sent of weed seeping through the cracks of the door.

“At least he knows how to party.” He murmured to himself as he raised his fist to the door and knocked. 

“Door's open biatch!” Rick yelled.

Stanley shook his head skeptically at being in this situation and opened up the door. His senses were instantly assaulted with a fog of illegal substances that tingled his nose with a second hand high. Just as soon as he got over the wave of mysterious drugs in the air, he got hit with how the place actually looked. His lips pursed in awe. The apartment was a disaster of some of the strangest shit he had ever seen in his life. Crowding the place were odd shaped knives, stacks of weird techy things with wires coming out of them, boxes of sci-fi looking tools, and piles of magazines in strange swirly languages. It was almost too much to take in all at once. 

“W-W-Welcome to my nest.” Said Rick, lounging nonchalantly in a seedy leather sofa. A cloud of heavy vapor escaped his thin lips. Above him hung what looked like a conspiracy theory master plan that covered the entire back wall of the living room. Blue prints, pictures, and random sketches of what could only be described as aliens were plastered in a collage of madness. Red string connected the whole thing into a network of conclusions and theories. 

“Exactly who in God’s name are you?” Stanley yelled over the rock music pounding in the room. 

“I already told you,“ Rick smirked, pulling the blunt from his mouth. “I’m a-mother-fucking-genius.”

Stanley glanced around at the hole in the wall kitchen. From what he could see of it from the living room, it was over run with Bunsen burners and glowing beakers of chemicals. 

“Man, do you make LSD in here?” Stanley asked in exasperation. 

Rick breathed out a sigh of smoke. “S-S-Something like that.”

“Something like that?” Stanley repeated, getting the feeling his was in way over his head. 

“Yeah, w-w-what you gotta problem with that? Because I’m not gonna change shit around here for you.” Rick scowled, his sleep deprived eyes flashing up at Stanley darkly. 

“No, I ain’t got a problem with it. I just want to know what’s up.” Stanley replied, putting his hands out in a calming gesture, trying to appease him.

It didn’t work. Rick got up from the sofa and paced the room tensely. “What? You expect me to tell you everything? I have only know you for what, a minute? I ain’t telling you shit.”

“Well, I mean if you expect me to be living here then-“

“Then what?” Rick cut, tossing the dwindling bud of his blunt onto the floor, and reaching for another one. Stanley’s expression drew back, was this normal? Rick was obviously shooting for the moon, anymore and his pupils would be nothing but black holes. 

“I think I just ought to know what the hell is going on in the kitchen that’s all.” Stanley persisted.

“No- No- you fucking don’t.” Rick spat, lighting up and getting into Stanley’s face. Despite being as skinny as a bone, he was good six inches taller then Stanley, and a lot more comfortable at invading personal space. He leaned in to only a couple inches away from Stanley face, and puffed out a bitter cloud. “You’re the muscle. I’m the brains. Let’s get that e-e-established right now.”

Stanley clenched his fists. “What. Did. You. Just. Say. Punk.”

“I said stay the fuck out of the kitchen if you’re not a fucking cook.” Rick growled through his teeth. "I’m not gonna be pushed around by no mother-fuckin' sorry shit like you. You got that. This is my place- these are my fucking rules. I-I-If your gonna be an asinine little pussy about following me- even though I'm the genius around here- well then you can get take you're ass and get the fuck out.”

Stanley sighed, rocking back and forth on his toes. “So, are we really doing this?”

“Doing w-w-what?” Rick furrowed his brows.

Without warning Stanley roughly grabbed Rick by his choker and threw him to the floor. Rick rolled over in pain cursing. “Ungrateful shit!” He struggled upwards, lunging at Stanley and knocking him over. To Stanley’s surprise Rick was a lot stronger than he looked. Rick landed a punch square on Stanley’s mouth, breaking the skin on his lower lip. Blood poured down Stanley’s chin as he wrestled with Rick on the floor, trying to pin him down. Sneering and squirming, Rick managed to jab Stanley in the gut repeatedly with his pointy knee, causing Stanley to curl inwards in pain. If it wasn’t for the fight with the landlord earlier, Stanley would have been a lot better off, but as it was he was struggling to get the upper hand. Rick elbowed him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him, leaving what would be some pretty nasty bruises. Finally, with blood boiling, Stan shoved Rick down and caught him by the wrists. Rick’s skinny arms were nothing under the weight of Stanley’s. No amount of twisting was going to lead to an escape from his death grip.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are," Stanley exclaimed, "But I assure you, you don't look like any genius to me, and I know what they look like."

Rick's expression briefly filled with confusion. 

"I am no idiot. Got it." Stanley declared, his grip on Rick's wrist increasing as he spoke. 

“S-S-So you think fucking attacking me proves you’re smart?” Rick smirked from underneath him, his haunted eyes glowing fiercely, like he was secretly enjoying this. “You are an idiot.”

Stanley opened his mouth to say something back, but suddenly his lips were met with Rick’s in an awkward lusty kiss. In the few seconds before he realized what was going on, Stanley found himself kissing back. It felt good, hot, and just the right amount of dirty, but then his brain realized what his mouth was doing. Stanley practically froze before shoving Rick off and getting up. 

“What the Hell!” He yelled, astonished and shaken. “I’m straight! God!”

“But you were acting real real gay there for a moment their baby.” Rick crooned from the floor, his lips red from the kiss.

“Don’t do shit like that!” Stanley snapped, trying to ignore the seductive look that Rick was giving him.

“Why? Because i-i-it upset your ideas of sexuality and social conformity?” Rick said in a surprisingly intellectual voice while getting up.

“The fuck?” Stanley interjected.

“You gotta have an open mind Stan.” Rick said waving his hands around, and pulling out his flask. “Have you ever had sex with eight different genders at fucking once?” He looked wistfully into space. “Once you have an o-o-orgy with the Arileanes of sector 18 there is no going back. Be prepared to have your narrow ideas of gender shot to hell once you start visiting other planets.”

Stanley looked at Rick. It must have been the drugs. That was it. There was no way any of this was real. 

“I’m going to bed.” Stanley announced, heading towards what he hoped was the bedroom. “And if you try anything while I’m asleep, so help me I will put you in the hospital and I will steal all of your shit while you’re in there.”

Rick watched with a sober expression as Stanley disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door. “Y-Y-You’re a real pain in the ass you know that.” He whispered under his breath, a shadowy smile dancing across his lips. "A-A-A real pain..."


	4. Great Things

The morning had long since come and gone by the time Stanley finally woke up. A small crack of bright afternoon light had pierced through the mini blinds, rousing him from his intoxicated sleep. Groggily, he rolled over in the creaky bed, blinking his eyes as the strange bedroom came into focus. He noticed the piles of grungy laundry, and the electric guitar in the corner. Rick. The memories shot through him like a knife- the drinking- the fighting- the kissing. 

“Shit!” He moaned, reaching up and touching his lips to see if they were swollen from where Rick had punched him. He winched, they were definitely sensitive and probably bruised. 

Slowly, a warm feeling burned in his chest as his fingers rested on his mouth. The pain brought back the sensation of Rick’s rough and needy lips on his own. A blush rose in cheeks. He thought about Rick’s thin body pressed under his on the floor, their limbs intertwining…

“No- No- Stop it. It’s unnatural. You’re just-” His thoughts faded away as Rick’s comment from last night replayed in his mind, “-Acting real real gay.” 

He laid there on the bed in silence. This was ridiculous. He sighed and got up, trying to shove down his confusing feelings. He was straight and that was the end of it. He wasn’t going to let some good for nothing lanky-ass queer mess with him. For that matter, Stanley didn’t even like skinny hips and shit. He liked women, curvy, hot pants wearing women. Foxy looking with long hair and all the works, now that was his type. Not skinny. Not gangly. Not Rick. 

Firmly decided upon this fact, he felt safe going out into the living room, where he half expected to see Rick either passed out in some drug induced sleep coma or still on a raving high. After all, he highly doubted that weed was the only things in those blunts that Rick was smoking last night. 

“Jesus!” Stanley gagged, covering his nose as he walked out into the living room. “It smells like literal death in here.” 

He looked around and saw Rick running around like a maniac in the kitchen swearing. He was wearing a stained white lab coat that was a little too big for his thin shoulders and a pair of thick yellow gloves. His gloomy gaze was flashing wildly as he rummaged through his equipment. His sharp eyes suddenly darted up to meet Stanley’s before trailing down to see Stanley’s slightly unbuttoned shirt.

“Top of the aaaafternoon to you.” Rick belched out, leering at Stanley’s exposed chest. Stanley could practically hear the sexual thoughts going through Rick’s mind but decided to ignore them for his sanity. Rick swung around a vial of bubbling clear liquid up to a black light making it fluoresce purple, before taking the rubber stopper off of it. Instantly, more of the foul smell flooded the air.

“What in Christ name are you doing in here? Discovering how to put every skunk on the planet out of a job?” Stanley coughed, his eyes watering from the stench.

“What does it look like? I’m paying the fucking rent Stan, or do you not get how the intergalactic drug trade works?” Rick said rolling his eyes, before pouring the vial into a distilling tube. It made a hissing demonic screech as it changed color upon contact with the tube. Stanley swore the steam coming off of it made the shape of a skull. Perhaps there was a reason why it smelled like literal death in here. That stuff looked possessed. 

“Intergalactic drug trade?” Stanley scoffed, cocking an eyebrow and leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. “You know sometimes you gotta say some shit that makes some sense Rick.”

“I-I-It doesn’t matter if it makes sense to you Stan. What matters is that we need 750 grams of Crystalline Blue by tonight, capiche?” Rick’s eyes shifted towards Stanley, apparently he had decided to let Stanley into somewhat of what was happening in the kitchen after all.

“Crystalline Blue?” Stanley said with a perplexed expression, he had never heard of that one before. “Thought you said this was LSD?”

“I said LSD… or something.” Rick began cracking open some more of the disgusting smelling vials and pouring them into the distiller. Each one of them hissed exactly like the first one, creating an unsettling symphony of noxious vapors and screams. 

“Well then what the hell is this- this-” Stanley found himself at a loss for words to describe the vodooish looking chemical reaction. 

“The shit that makes you taste colors, Stan,” Rick said with a devilish grin. “Banned in over 5,689 dimensions because some numb nuts t-t-hink it’s unethical.”

“Is it?” Stanley asked, not even bothering to even address the whole issue of 5,689 dimensions.

“Fuck yeah it is!” Rick exclaimed, “That-that’s why it’s the shit, Stan. You can’t get a high like Crystalline Blue ethically.” He hastily pulverized some weird looking crystals in pestle before placing the pestle underneath the spout of the still. Slowly, the still began to drip into the pestle, each drop fizzling upon contact with the crushed crystals. Rick stood back to admire his work and to make sure everything was running smoothly. He pulled off his gloves, satisfied with the operation, and that’s when Stanley saw that Rick was bruised from where he had grabbed him last night. Thumbprints clearly shown through Rick’s slightly tan skin, wringing his narrow wrists in purple and green. Flashing thoughts of his hands fitting perfectly around Rick’s arms lit up his brain. Physical contact- getting physical- there were some parts of him screaming for it. Stanley's breath sucked inwards a bit.

Rick smirked at how intently Stanley was staring at his wrists. “How straight of you to notice daddy.” He bit his lip, moving to drape his arm over Stanley.

“Fuck off,” Stanley growled, swatting Rick’s hand away.

“Shit Stan- w-w-what did I ever do to you but make your cock hard?” Rick protested, pushing past him and going into the living room to slump down on the couch. Stanley felt the sweat and the rage pouring off of him. How was this guy so good at pressing his buttons? Only Stanford had been that adept at both disabling him and enraging him at the same time. Stanley was beginning to wonder if Rick really was a genius.

“So I assume you got a buyer for this satanic space crack,” Stanley asked, trying to change to subject. 

“You know I do,” Rick replied, a note of pride in his voice. “That’s actually where you come into the equation, Stan.” He took a swig from a bottle of liquor that was sitting on the coffee table before grabbing a blueprint and unrolling in a swooping motion. It was a diagram of a multi-level building that looked suspiciously like a bank. Rick took out a pen and began to sketch out potential entry points into the building. 

"The job he talked about in the bar..." Stanley thought in silence looking at it, "That must be it."

“I need you to look tough for me tonight- when-when we drop the drugs, can you do that Stan?” Rick said while somewhat absentmindedly drawing on the blueprint. “Cause I’m really counting on you to look tough- like mean Stan- real mean. I-I-It’s essential to like everything. We gotta land this deal or else-else it won’t be good Stan- and that’s all I got to really say about it. I know it’s not the greatest, dealing drugs and whatever, but I’m telling you once we-we get this settled then we can move on to great things Stan. Great things.” He glanced up at Stanley. “Don’t you want to do great things, Stan? Like break into this motherfucker and steal a bunch of shit we need from dicks who don’t need it?” He pointed down at the blueprint with his spindly fingers. “Cause Stan, I know for sure as fuck I do. We can do it fucking together- fucking great things. So, can you l-l-look like badass motherfucker tonight?” 

"Is that even a question punk?” Stanley scoffed, raising his eyebrows, evoking an infectious chuckle from Rick that broke the multiple levels of tension in the room. Stanley couldn’t help but crack a smile as Rick’s usually melancholy eyes brightened with life. Great things. That struck a cord that hadn't been played in long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just thought I would share some headcanon things of mine personally. I kind of picture Rick kinda looking like Sid Vicious from The Sex Pistols only somewhat tanner and The Flesh Curtains sounding similar- like if you took the Sex Pistols and blended it with the Ramones? Whatever- random thoughts!


	5. The Pick Up

It was dark by the time the Crystalline Blue had finished distilling. Stan had spent all that time glued to the couch, reflecting on his life choices, while Rick had paced the room like a mad man. There was something about the way that Rick’s eyebrows, or rather eyebrow, was furrowed in thought that made Stan really wonder. Was Rick for real? Was all of this real- the intergalactic drug trade- the alien orgies- the other dimensions? Some part of him hoped that it was. He mused on how ironic it would be that he would be the one, not Ford, to visit other worlds first. 

Stan’s ears perked up as he heard the ding of kitchen timer go off.

“Shit’s done!” Rick exclaimed, rubbing his hands together and going into the kitchen. He hastily put on his yellow gloves as he leaned down to inspect the reformed crystal. The Crystalline Blue had formed into a stalactite looking shard under the dripping spout of the distiller. With a pair of tongs, Rick pulled out the mass and quickly stuck it into a jar of sticky green goo, submerging it in the ooze. 

“What is the goop for?” Stan asked absent mindedly from the couch.

“Protection- stuff is volatile i-i-if it gets moved too much.” Rick answered, screwing the cap on the jar and glancing at the clock, “We gotta go Stan. We gotta- we gotta go to pick up w-with this shit.”

Stan got up from the couch as Rick roamed around the apartment gathering stuff into a beat up backpack. 

“Here.” Rick said tossing the backpack at Stan. Stan glanced inside the bag to see that it was filled to the brim with weird weapons and tools.

“I thought you said that this deal was all set up? Why do we need all this?” Stan grimaced, taking one of the strange laser guns out of the bag.

“Do you think pleasant people buy Crystalline Blue? Is that what you think- that it’s a fucking picnic- some I’ll show you mine if you show me yours deal?” Rick rolled his eyes, while fitting the jar into a foam lined briefcase. “Only dangerous people want Crystalline Blue Stan and only dumbasses with a death wish sell it.” Rick’s eyes glinted, “But I’m no dumbass, and I’m not planning on dying neither, so that means that we have gotta be prepared Stan- prepared to kill Stan.”

Stan glanced down at the laser pistol in his hand hesitantly. Flashes of what had happened with the landlord flickered in his mind. The lingering blood stains on his jeans felt like they were cutting into him like thorns. 

“You got it Stan?” Rick asked, putting on a studded leather jacket. “This is the way things are gonna be if you want a leg up in this life Stan. You want a leg up don’t you?”

Stan gritted his teeth, “Yeah, I sure as fuck do.” 

“Than,” Rick cooed, lighting up a blunt and putting it to his mouth, “There should be no problem tough guy. We get in. We get out. We get the dough. Cappeach”

Stan nodded “Cappeach.”

“Now let’s go get Rickty-Rickty-Rich motherfucker!” Rick exclaimed as he went out the door.

Sighing hesitantly, Stan put the sci-fi weapon back in the bag and took out the revolver that he had pocketed from the landlord. Smoothly, he clicked it open and loaded it. If ride or die was how it was going to be, then he was going to try his damnedest to be ready. 

Rick’s car was parked out along a side street from the apartment. It was a low riding black coup with airbrushed flames on the bumpers. Rick slid in with ease, but Stan barely could fold himself into the seat. It was going to be a long ride from here to where ever the hell they were going. 

The streets of the town were quiet and desolate as they cruised down them. The steady rhythm of the streetlights passing overhead matched the pulsing beat of Rick’s music. Stan’s fingers tapped incessantly on his knees. The backpack of weapons seemed to be burning a hole into his lap. His veins were beginning to pump full of adrenalin. He was anxious but at the same time he was intensely excited. 

He briefly glanced over at Rick as a steady stream of strange feelings began to spin inside of him. Rick was in his element. Stanley could see it all over him. Rick lived for this- the danger- the money- the drugs. Always being on the run and never stopping for a second, was his way of life. Was it the life for him?

Stan bit his lip as he looked at Rick again. Definitely.

The car made a coasting turn into the parking lot of a dilapidated old McDonalds. There were no other cars in the parking lot. Slowly, they rolled up to the drive through speaker. 

“When you said we gotta go to the pick up- I didn’t think it would like literal be a pick up.” Stan scoffed, gesturing up at the lit up menu. “What the fuck are they going to do? Hand us the money in a happy meal- like it is the fucking children’s prize? You know- you know should have put the money in a big mac box instead of that shitty brief case. It would have set the tone or whatever.” Stan sighed while leaning back in thought. “My lord, I’ll never look at a Mickey D’s the fucking same.”

“Shut the fuck up dumbass. I’m trying to decide what I want.” Rick grumbled looking at the menu.

Stan turned his head in exasperation. “You mean we’re here for burgers?”

“Nah, I think I’m feeling the nuggets…” Rick said absentmindedly.

“Okay let me rephrase that. We are here for fucking burgers?” Stan repeated, folding his arms. 

Rick shot him a sideways glance. “Cool it babe, your Jersey showing-” 

“How the hell you know I’m from Jersey?” Stan spat. He always hating saying he came from that slimly hell hole. 

The electric buzz of the drive through com clicked. “….hi…..welcome to McDonald’s….what will you be having today….” said a monotone voice through the line.

“Hmmm.” Rick pondered, “I think I have one of your six piece Mcnuggets with a large fry and a coke.” 

“…. alright…anything else to complete your order….”

Rick cast a long glance at Stan. Stan adjusted in his seat and grumbled under his breath. 

“I’ll a big mac with double pickles and a side of fries.” He groaned. 

“…….that will be three fifty at the window………”

Silently, they ate in the car as they drove on. Stan didn’t want to admit it but eating a little bit of food was calming. The strange rock in the car continued to be strange, but it was a good strange. It was odd but he had never felt more alive in his life. After feeling empty for so long, it was amazing sensation.


End file.
